Working Naked (Not Like That): From Tow Trucks to TSA
He’s based in Mooresville, but we tried to open up a new zone closer to where I live. I’d haul his tow truck into uncharted territory and grind all day and night, chasing calls, jumping batteries, pulling cars out of ditches, and sweet-talking my way into new accounts and google reviews. The plan was to find the perfect Tow Yard/Bodyshop in this area and double the territory
Some nights I slept in that truck. Other nights, it felt like I might not wake up at all.
See, one of the perks of driving a tow truck is that they’re practically invisible to law enforcement. As long as it’s lettered up and looks legit, you can park just about anywhere, hang in a lot for hours, and bend the speed limit a little without raising eyebrows. You’re the overlooked utility worker of the streets. .
Which is great—until you’re parked in a not-so-great part of Charlotte after dark, where being invisible to law enforcement might not be the blessing it sounds like. In those spots, you want the occasional patrol to roll by and make sure you're not slumped over with your boots hanging out the driver’s door.
So, I carried my back-up plan.
No, not a second job or an emergency granola bar. My back-up plan was a 9mm pistol.
Now before anyone faints into their seatbelts: I’m a legal concealed carrier. I practice regularly. I train. I follow the law. I’m not some vigilante in cargo shorts itching for a shootout in a gas station parking lot. I just believe that the world’s got some rough corners, and I’d rather have a chance than none. Even if it’s just a chance.
But now? I’m on the road in a whole new way.
As a catastrophe adjuster, I’m flying into new cities, deployed for storms, working under a company policy that’s very clear: no weapons. Doesn't matter what the state says. Doesn’t matter what the TSA says. Doesn’t matter if my hotel’s in a part of town that has more boarded-up windows than working streetlights.
And look, it’s not the end of the world. I get it. I signed the policy. I'm a professional.
But there’s still that moment, walking into some unknown neighborhood with a tablet in one hand and my “hi-I’m-here-to-help” smile on, when I'll realize: I’m unarmed. I feel… naked.
Not the good naked. Not the beach vacation naked. The “I really hope this pen is sharp enough to use as a weapon” kind of naked.
So now, my defense plan is this:
-
Smile big.
-
Be friendly.
Be situational aware as possible
-
Park facing the exit.
-
Keep my stylus sharpened just in case I have to go John Wick on someone with a clipboard.
The truth is, most people I meet on the job are good people in bad situations. But I’ll always miss the peace of mind that came from knowing I had a little more say in how a worst-case scenario played out.
Until then, I keep my head up, my shoes laced, and my pen at the ready.
Comments
Post a Comment